Rating:: PG
House:: The Dark Arts
Characters:: Minerva McGonagall
Genres:: General Drama
Era:: Harry and Classmates Post-Hogwarts
Spoilers:: Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix Half-Blood Prince
Stats:: Published: 05/26/2005

Updated: 05/26/2005

Words: 1,504

Chapters: 1

Hits: 369

Tempus Fugit

Dreamcatcher

Story Summary:: Minerva McGonagall reflects on her life, both past and present, and wonders if anyone still cares enough to keep the wizarding world safe. And she wonders if anyone still cares about her. What little joy she has left in her life rides on a thin string, and she struggles everyday to keep that string from breaking.

Posted:: 05/26/2005

Hits:: 369

Tempus Fugit

Time flies....how true the old adage was. She could remember when her hands, with their flawless skin, moved so agilely... But now when she looked down, her hands betrayed her age.

Wrinkled and veined, worn by time, wrung in worry and sorrow.

There'd been much more grief in her lifetime than joy, and with the wizarding world in another uproar, she knew there wouldn't be much sleep in her future either. She'd be summoned to meetings, owled for advice, and bothered in general by those who both knew her and needed her opinion, and by those who sought her opinion only because they were told to.

She wasn't the most highly thought-of witch, in the light of past events and her current opinions. She knew the Minister of Magic was a complete and utter idiot, and had even told him so on many an occasion. And the newspaper articles that were still sporadically written about her reclusiveness after the war, her harsh purveyances of others, and her temperament in general did not bother her. But there were those who still sought her counsel, looking for guidance and wanting answers. Counsel she could give, but to only to very few; advice she could provide, although it was hardly even taken into any serious consideration...but answers? She wished sometimes she had them, to ease the pain and worry in the eyes of those who did seek her out. And then there were other times that she knew if she did indeed have solutions to the problems they brought to her, there'd be no end. The constant disturbances would prove to be more than an annoyance, and she did not want to be annoyed.

She wanted to be alone.

She glanced down at her hands again as they rested on her lap. Her wand, not used but for the occasional household chore that her hands, much less her body, had the strength to do themselves, lay on the nearby table. She slowly clenched one hand, then the other, feeling the bones move and watching the skin tighten, then stretch. Her fingertips moved around the wool blanket over her lap. The blanket was warm from the sun coming in the kitchen window. It was her favorite window. From her chair, she could watch the birds fly around the tiny backyard, chasing each other and whistling happily in the spring air. The flowers and trees were just starting to bloom, and everything had that slightly rainy, fresh smell to it. Rebirth, she thought. Everything was growing again, renewing itself. She dearly wished to be outside, on her knees, hands in the soil. Just to feel the earth in her hands, the dirt of her little garden....she'd give just about anything.

A decade ago, she walked about freely up and down the halls of Hogwarts. When students came across her, they always had respect for her. She was strict, stern and assigned quite a lot of homework....but the students who knew her the best adored her, but from a distance.

Five years ago, she said goodbye to Albus, who finally went to rest after a fruitful life.

One year ago, she was out in her garden, tending the new buds that were just poking out of the ground.

One day ago, she was in bed, racked with coughing fits and a fever. Now she sat in front of the window, watching everything go on without her. Her time had passed...she had done all that she could. And now, she was happy to move on.

"Minerva?"

Her head jerked up as someone else's head poked in the front door. "Minerva, are you all right?"

Although her body may betray her age, her eyes never did. They were still two pieces of sharp flint, always sparking. She still had her pride...that she'd never let go of. "Ms. Granger, is it necessary for you to bother an old woman while she's busy?"

Hermione stepped into the small kitchen with a sigh. "Minvera....you're neither old nor busy."

Minerva turned back to her window. "You got one part right." She didn't elaborate, and Hermione shrugged.

"Has everything been okay today?" she asked as she moved around the kitchen, putting things away. Most of the necessary items had been moved down onto lower shelves so that the former professor didn't have to strain herself (physically or magically), but it was still difficult for her to always get everything put away.

She snorted. "Everything is fine, Ms. Granger. I'm fine. Now I must ask that you leave. You're scaring my birds."

Hermione chuckled, glancing out the window. "Well, we both know it's not my hair scaring them." She touched her bushy tresses with a hand. "It probably looks more like their nests than something frightening."

And despite herself, Minerva let loose a small laugh. "Yes, I suppose that's true." She watched her former student finish putting things away. "You could just wave your wand and everything would be in it's proper place, you know."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I could." She turned around, hands cupping a small red vase filled with daisies. "And you could also use your strength to put these things away yourself instead of using it to turn every butterbeer bottle you have into vases."

Minerva scowled. "Unless your memory is failing, Ms. Granger, I was a Tranfiguration teacher at Hogwarts. Transfiguring is what I'm good at." Her voice rang with pride, but her head dropped. "I do not waste my energy on turning bottles into vases...at the very least, it's what keeps me going. Making vases and putting my flowers into them. It's like bringing my garden inside. It's what little joy I've got left."

Hermione gently set the vase by the sink and hunched down by the old woman. "People still love you, Minerva. They wouldn't come around if they didn't."

Minerva looked up, eyes registering defeat and sadness. "But you misunderstand. They don't come around anymore. I've got no family to come see me. The only people who contact me anymore are the ones who want something from me. They don't care, because they know I don't." She paused, her brow furrowed. "Why have so many people stopped caring?"

"I care." The words slipped before Hermione realized that her old professor was only partly talking about herself. She was talking about the wizarding world. She was talking about the abandoned fight against evil. She was talking about ignorance, confusion, and the lackadaisical attitude that had swept their world ever since the defeat of Voldemort. Their people believed that since the big danger was gone, there was nothing else to fear.

They were so blind that they couldn't see what was hiding in the shadows.

"It's been too long for most, or not long enough that they don't understand that there are still...things, and people out there. All the Death Eaters were never caught, and with Lucius Malfoy still out there somewhere, people would rather forget, or feign ignorance than face reality." Minerva sighed. "Something will come, and it will destroy us. No one will know what to do. All the old ones, like me, have either passed or are too weak to fight anymore. Most of your generation are scattered about the world. And the new ones....the young ones...."

"Could care less." Hermione finished. "I know." She took the old woman's hand. "But, no matter what, you know I'll be on the lookout. I'll alert others if anything happens." She looked straight into Minerva's eyes. "And nothing will stop me from coming here every week to see you. I care, Minerva. Nothing can change that."

Hermione would have bet her wand that she saw tears in the woman's eyes, but they disappeared almost as quickly as they appeared. "I appreciate that, Hermione," replied Minerva. "More than you know."

Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon bird-watching with her aged professor, talking about what new codes she had cracked at the bank, about Harry's new adventures and Ron's most recent Quidditch game. At dusk she left, as the old woman fell asleep in her bed. Hermione vowed she'd start coming by more often. She'd seen the loneliness in Minerva's eyes, along with the despair and the hope that had always been there. The loneliness was new, though. Or, it was the first time Minerva had let her see it. Either way, she loved the old woman dearly, treated her as family, and saw her as nothing less than the woman she was ten years ago. Her body may have aged, but the fire and the flint were still there.

Minerva heard the door shut as Hermione left, and she smiled. There were those who still cared, and she knew that she would die neither alone or desperate. For there were those she still loved, and it was simply a joy to see them.

"You were right about one thing, Hermione," she whispered to the dark as she stared at the red vase. "I'm not too busy, never too busy to visit."